Being a mother

I thought it was time to have a post that was less "here are pictures of what we've done" and more "here's what's been on my mind these days."
It's been prompted by a few things, the most recent of which being the fact that we've officially had our first "new parents trip to the hospital over nothing" incident.
But before I get into that, it's also prompted by something I've been pondering for a bit.  When we meet up with people for the first time or if it's been awhile, we are often asked "how's Finn?" or "how has it been living with a baby?" or other questions along those lines.  But when we were with family over Christmas, my mother-in-law's first question on the drive from the airport was "how are you finding being a mother?"  And I was completely caught off my guard because I hadn't really thought of it in those terms enough to have a quick reply.  I don't really know how I'm finding it being a mother.  And I've been thinking about it ever since.

I'd discussed it with James a bit.  I thought there was something wrong with me because I found it hard to think of Finn as "my" son.  Not in the sense of not connecting with him but in the possessive sense.  I've never been able to feel like he belongs to me.  He is Finn, he is so himself and so amazingly individual and I found it hard to ever think of him in terms of "mine."  I still find it hard to say "my son."  I still don't fully understand why that is difficult for me, and I'm sure it will lessen with time, but I think it comes from an aspect of being a mother that I didn't anticipate.  When I think of him, I can be overwhelmed by the privilege of him.  The fact that I get to be his mother is more intensely felt than the fact that he is my son.  True, there are times that I am amazed that he came from me and James and that he didn't exist before and that "we created this."  But more often I am amazed that I have been trusted with such a huge thing as the person that is Finn.  And that is how I'm finding being a mother.  I think that's what caught me off guard about the question.  It's easy to get wrapped up in the "how is he sleeping?" and "how are you finding being at home with him all the time?" and "is he doing A, B, or C yet?" and let the question of how he has changed me drift to the side.  But Finn is unequivocally not mine.  He is entirely his own.  Which makes the fact of being his mother all the more life changing.  So, no, he is not mine.  But he is "my son" which means I am given the privilege of helping him to become the amazing person that he will one day be.

So before I can understand how I'm taking to being a mother, I need to first discover what does it mean to me to be a mother?  I still don't really know and I'm sure it's different for everyone.  But I'm discovering what it means to me bit by bit along the way.  I get little shocks of things I have never felt before, things I never knew I could to, responsibility I never knew I could live up to.  These two pictures express that a bit:

I still can't get over the fact that I can do this.  Not so much along the lines of what I can give to Finn.  That doesn't amaze me - I would give him anything.  But that fact that he trusts me, is comforted by me, that I can make him happy and he expects me too.  These are all things that he gives to me.  And when he gives me that trust and expectation that I will care for him - then I do feel like a mother.

But sometimes you can't fulfil.  When we returned from Amsterdam, Finn came down with a virus.  He is snotty and sneezy and his eyes are red and watery and he's wholly unhappy.  The first 24 hours of it were a bit intense.  He was crying non-stop when he was awake.  I could calm him down by nursing him, but that was the only way - and the only way he could sleep.  Which meant he was on the breast sometimes for more than an hour, or with only a gap of 45 minutes in between.  Obviously this meant that I hadn't slept in 24 hours, and that he wasn't really sleeping well - which of course made him cry more.  It was like he was looking at me and James with these huge eyes of "make it better - you are the people who make things better and you're not doing it" and we just couldn't.  He was just crying and crying and crying until I felt like I had so utterly failed him.  It got to the point where we figured that there had to be Something Wrong.  In the Something WRONG  sense.  When it had hit truly 24 hours of inconsolability, we phoned the NHS direct helpline, they talked through the symptoms with us and advised us to go see the doctor just to make sure.  So at 10:30 at night we went to the hospital to see the out-of-hours GP.  As you may have guessed, there was nothing he could do.  There is actually a long story involved as this doctor was horrible and patronising and it was a very negative experience (he actually refused to let James hold him still when he wanted to examine his ears because "men like to pretend they are good with babies but only mothers can do it properly" which goes against EVERYTHING we believe and was completely contrary to the fact that James had been keeping him brilliantly calm up until that point) but anyway, I won't get into that right now.  The end result was basically that: yes, there was something wrong - Finn wasn't feeling well and it was upsetting him.  But it wasn't even close to life threatening and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it and he wasn't actually inconsolable because you've just said the only time he isn't crying is when he's nursing or you're holding him.  So nurse him and hold him.  That's what he needs right now.  He's tired and unhappy so do what you can to make him comfortable but you're going to have to wait it out for the most part.

And again, I had a shock of feeling like a mother.  Because I can't just LET him be MISERABLE!  He's looking at me and begging me to make him feel better.  Normally I can make him feel better.  What do you mean there is nothing I can do to make him feel better!?  The anger I felt at the world that Finn was sick and I had to just wait it out and couldn't even explain to him that he would eventually feel better was something I hadn't really felt before.  It was an overwhelming sense of "I feel your pain" in the true sense.  That's not entirely true - I had felt it before.  When Finn got his immunisations and was so upset that I was in tears, I felt that way.  But at least then I could give him cuddles and in a small way make him feel better... this not being able to do anything is worse.  And I started to think about him growing up and skinning his knee or breaking a bone, or getting his heart broken, or all the many times I am not going to be able to make it better.  And knowing those times will happen makes me sad.  Even knowing that they need to happen and he will be a better person for it doesn't help that I feel sad that I can't keep him in a permanent state of bliss for his entire existence.  And that feels like being his mother.

And then I took it one step further.  After we got back from the hospital, Finn had been crying so much in the taxi that he had exhausted himself to the point that he was actually asleep when we got home.  We put him straight in his cot and James and I immediately fell into bed.  I dreamt that we were all on holiday and knowing how much Finn loves having a bath, I thought he would enjoy the pool.  So I put him on a raft in the pool and went to get his towel (don't judge me!  It was a DREAM!).  I then got distracted and was away longer than I expected.  When I came back, Finn was at the bottom of the pool.  Just the sight of him there was enough to jolt me straight awake with a gasp.  And I lay there in bed imagining what I would do if something were to ever happen to him.  And THAT feels like being his mother.  Because even a dream or an imagining of that is so heart-wrenchingly painful that I can't help but cry.  It's amazing how someone I've only known for three and a half months could be so important that I can't imagine life without them.  I'd heard a quote a while ago and it didn't quite register.  But as I was writing this blog I remembered it again and sought it out.  It's from Elizabeth Stone (though I don't know who Elizabeth Stone is):

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart walking around outside your body"

I feel that.  I get that.  So, yes - even if Finn is not "mine" I am most definitely his.  And though that carries a massive amount of responsibility and heartache, I wouldn't trade it in for the world.  And when I realise how true that is, I really do feel like a mother.